


Phoenix

by Bone2pick



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Hollstein - Fandom
Genre: #AU #headcanon #hollstein #carmilla, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bone2pick/pseuds/Bone2pick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are infinite ways to meet one person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A series of every AU and headcanon my brain has churned out. Also whatever AU and headcanon your brains have churned out, because I'm taking requests for this as well. Don't be shy, let 'em fly.

I. Runaway

Her spiked shoes came down to claw into the turf, the breath blowing from her lungs like a wave punching the shore. She tilted slightly as she took the curve, a sling shot effect bringing her down the straight so fast the wind sang in her ear.

Her legs burned. Her throat felt raw. Her blood hummed red.

Alive. 

It was the perfect high. A zone she entered and left alone, her thoughts and nerves scattered somewhere on the white track lines behind her.

Her muscles pumped in perfect unison and if she could close her eyes, she would pretend that she could stay here forever.

But hark.

Being a sprinter meant having a sort of third eye. That creeping feeling that someone was gaining on you.

Again, this was something she did alone. The rest of the track team wasn't expected just yet. She was lucky to have PE for last period on Tuesdays and Thursdays, meaning she got to the lockers and track first.

And there was only two reasons anyone ever really attempted to “socialize.”

Reason number 1 (and horrible mistake number one). It was no secret that Will Karnstein had slept with nearly half the female student body-- pun implied-- at Silas High. 

It was something she'd rather not think about. 

He was in shape from being the pitcher and heavy hitter on the varsity baseball team, his woeful lack of motivation in any of the AP classes he had been smart enough to glide into and dark, smirking eyes somehow irresistible and blah blah blah.

The number of girls who had tried to befriend her in attempts to get closer to him were both unfathomable and terribly annoying. All any of those vapid little things had to do was go up to Will and fidget and he'd take them to his car or beneath the bleachers like a jaguar dragging some limp antelope to its cave. 

He had no discerning tastes.

So now, during her third lap around the track, as that Hollis girl entered her peripheral in a blaring pink headband, she nearly picked up her pace. Hell, she nearly picked up her pace on principle alone. Hollis was that bubbly, Hermonie-mother-fucker that had her hand up any time the teacher asked the class a question. They had AP Literature together and she nearly shot herself during that squeaky analysis of Jane Eyre Chapter 12.

“Hey,” said Laura in the same squeaky clean tone. “How's it going?”

“It's going,” she droned. She wondered if she was going to cut to the chase or just drag out the whole small talk thing some more. 

“Congratulations on hitting a flat thirteen seconds on your one hundred meter,” she beamed. “That's pretty cool.”

“Uh huh.”

“So...I don't mean to be weird. But. Can you talk to your brother for me?”

Cutting to the chase it was. She stopped, hands akimbo as she caught her breath. Although, how curious. She'd never pegged girls like her to be up for going down.

“You're Laura Hollis.”

“Yeah,” Laura panted, oblivious to or ignoring her scowl.

“AP. 4.0. Obvious virgin Laura Hollis.”

“Obvious,” Laura repeated, blinking. “Is that what people say about me.”

Laura was in a perfectly ironed track team uniform, complete with wrist warmers. She was also currently jogging in place, her pony tail whipping back and forward.

Her eyebrows raised dully. “Yes.”

“Did Elle Pasher's now ex boyfriend really walk in on you two in her parent's pool house? Because that's what people say about you,” Laura said.

Well, damn. If that wasn't a retort wrapped up in an innocent, labradoodle puppy dog look, she didn't know what one was.

“No,” she lied coolly.

It was, however, a secret that Carmilla Karnstein had seduced the other near half of the female student body at Silas High. That was reason number two. And could very easily be horrible mistake number two at that.

“So that's just a rumor,” Laura said. She started to run again, but Laura was flanking her like a determined wiener dog.

It was something she didn't feel the need to brag about, and something the majority of the girls she had found herself alone with in band rooms and on locker benches wanted on the down low themselves.  
Seemed to be that being another notch in Will's belt was preferable to being openly bi or lesbian or curious or what have you. Which was fine by her-- when your mother is the Head Principal and already has your brother grounded beneath a stiletto heel, you flew better under her radar.

She was in shape from sprinting on varsity track, her tongue sharp and mind sharper, the same black eyes and hair and cheekbones and jaw line Will had been gifted with bringing all sorts of boys around. She immensely enjoyed emasculating them in front of their friends. And, on more than one occasion, discretely making out with their girlfriends or fucking their sisters.

“Look,” she huffed, wanting her away like she was a wild itch, “My brother would grope a lamp if it had boobs. The obvious virgin thing is probably a bonus anyway-- guys have a weird fetish for turning virgins. And lesbians. It's an ego thing.”

“I'm not interested in your brother. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“OK,” she said, stopping again and narrowing her glare into pin points. Laura froze, both shoes stilling to a stop on the turf. “You mean to tell me. That my brother wants you.”

“Yes. Probably because of the whole “obvious” virgin thing,” Laura said, bouncing quotation marks with her fingers. Though her face had turned very red. And not just from running.

“And,” she said slowly, “you don't want him.”

“...No?” Laura replied.

She snorted, squinting down the track to see if anyone else from the team was in on this. Danny Lawrence was staring at them from the shot-put ring but that was it.

“No. Really,” Laura insisted. “He keeps putting mix tapes in my locker. Or you know, burned CD's. “Every Step You Take” is a stalker anthem, not a love song.”

She blinked. Sting was Will's move. His trade.

“Holy shit, you really aren't making this up.”

“No,” Laura said. “I've tried to let him down gently, but I...I've never had turn anyone down before and at the risk of sounding like a braggart, I think I'm too nice and it's not translating.”

“You think,” she said, cocking a brow.

“Maybe,” Laura said, practically squirming. “Also, sorry for bringing up the Elle thing. Because Elle Pashner is kind of big B word--”

“Jesus, just say bitch,” she sighed roughly. “You're an obvious virgin because you called 'Kick-Ass' “Kick-Butt” when it came out.”

“You know what Kick-Butt is?” Laura blurted.

She said nothing, letting the sounds of Kirsch once again crash through the hurtles fill the silence between them.

“B word,” Laura continued, “and I didn't know you were...but you're not, so. Just. Please tell your brother I'm not really looking to be with anyone right now and that it's not him it's me okay bye.”

She stared at the back of Laura's head, still trying to dismantle and dissect what she had just heard. “What the actual fuck.”

 

“Hey Willy,” she announced loudly, yanking out his headphones and loudly dropping her track bag on the floor. “Little Miss Sunshine told me to tell you to stop hollering at her.”

Will snatched his headphones back, glaring at her over the marble counter top. “What?”

“Laura. Laura Hollis,” she snickered, opening the black fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. “She said you're creeping her out--”

The words died on her tongue when she turned around, her smirk curdling.

Will's mouth was ajar, his brow bent. His Adam's apple bobbed like he was going to say something but it lodged itself somewhere in his teeth instead.

And was he stooped over _homework_?

“What the frilly hell,” she blurted, utterly taken aback.

She had witnessed Will's one and only girlfriend of two years scream and sob in his face when he had broken up with her. On her Sweet 16th birthday. At a five star restaurant. With both families attending. Which was all fine and hilarious, but he hadn't looked an inch as affected as he did now.

“Is this some sort of elaborate prank or did an aneurysm just burst in my head or...” she asked slowly, eyes darting around their kitchen.

“...I put that Sting song on those CD's,” he whispered.

“Oh my God, I don't care,” she resigned, downing half the bottle and wishing it were really vodka. This day was getting too weird and she'd rather not.

“She's on your track team. You two are friends,” whimpered Will. It was the same voice he always used whenever he was in deep feces (particularly with mother) and he needed her help.

“Hardly.”

“Just. Please. I know it's my reputation,” Will groaned, head slumping into his hands.

“Tell her yourself,” she scoffed, redoing her bun.

“It would come a lot more meaningful from another girl.”

“Yeah, hey Laura, you know who you should lose your hymen to? My brother!” she exclaimed, the glee dropping from her face as quickly as she had put it there.

“How Shakespearean-- oh fuck,” he stopped, his eyes landing on the eraser board calendar on the fridge. “It's piss day.”

Every third Wednesday of every month, Mommy dearest brought home a pregnancy test and a home drug test. And every third Thursday of every month, Will peed on the pregnancy test, fully unaware that it was unnecessary and she found it hilarious. And she had yet to dance with Mary Jane, so she gave him a cup a clean urine.

It was the closest thing they all really had to a Family Night.

“You know, if you ever actually do need one of these, Mom will kill you,” he said, placing the test on mother's bathroom counter. “But I'll kill the dude who did it.”

She smiled wryly. This was the closest thing they really had to sibling bonding.

“Buttering me up isn't going to work,” she said, putting the lidded cup besides it.

“It's over,” he shrugged his mouth, glancing at mother's Artesmisia Gentileschi's Judith hanging above her queen sized bed. “I'm not going to push this.”

“Were you actually doing homework to impress her?” 

“I know,” Will rolled his eyes. “Provincial girl. Too tightly wound. It's a cliche. There's just...something about her.”

 

She was going to regret doing this.  
But hey-- it meant Will owed her a favor. Mother would stop harping on her to tutor or baby sit her brother. And as company goes, Laura wouldn't be the worst thing Will had dragged in. Win, win, win.

Also, what _were_ the chances that she would find the girl alone on her way to skipping AP World History.

“Hey, Hollis,” she called down the hall.

Laura turned, a blue headband matching the perry winkle shirt tucked into her waist high pants.  
“Oh. Hey Carmilla.”

“Are you skipping class?” she asked with a crooked smile, leaning against the locker next to Laura's.

“No, I leave early to attend college classes at the Uni,” Laura said, pulling out what seemed to be a never ending row of books.

“Of course you do,” she replied, fixing the right rolled up sleeve of her red plaid shirt. “So. I talked to my brother. And I think you should let him take you on one date.”

“I'm really not interested,” Laura smiled nervously.

“Look, I know he's a total slut,” she droned. “And I wish I didn't know how easy it is for him to get laid. But I do. And this isn't a virgin thing, he actually likes you.”

“I can't,” said Laura. She closed her locker, somehow hefting that turtle shell of a backpack on and gripping both straps. 

Damn it. Will sold himself. Should be selling himself. Blood is thicker than water and all, but she really didn't care for him this much.

“Is it because you're worried you'll look like you're getting favors, because mother's sort of a B word, and she's really going to make you work for valedictorian.”

“It's not that,” said Laura in a small voice, staring down at her bedazzled converse-- again, what the actual fuck, Will.

A slow realization fell over her. This was the most she and Hollis had spoken since meeting each other on the track team. She typically passed her in school halls and sat at the back of classrooms without even paying much mind.

“Is it my bitchiness. Because trust me, I don't do the third wheel thing.”

“No. It's not...well...” Laura said, looking impossibly small.

“It is me,” she said, her brow dipping to create that little line she knew she got in her forehead.

“Yes. But. Not in that way,” Laura said, her face growing red and her eyes Disney animal wide.

“What.”

“My Dad always raised me to tell the truth, no matter how hard it is, but could I tell you later--”

“Just spit it out, Hollis,” she cut in, “why won't you give him one chance--”

She had never had a girl kiss her out of nowhere.

It was something she had seen in movies and read in books and assumed was just as fake. She had made the first move plenty of times of course.

But hands coming to grab her shoulders. A pair of lips pressing up against hers clumsily, their noses bumping.  
Warm. Soft. Girls were always warm and soft but Laura's mouth tasted like cherry cola chap stick, and her small frame was shaking and where her chest was pressed to hers, she swore she felt the girl's heart kicking. 

And she kissed her back, inhaling the smell of fabric softener and pomegranate conditioner--

The bell rang through her head like a cacophonous howl and Laura was suddenly gone, racing down the hall before the students poured out from the doors.

She watched her go into the sunlight, her honey blonde hair waving goodbye.

“Shit.”


	2. I. Runaway, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carmilla cannot get Laura off her mind, Elle Pasher is an even bigger B-word, and kissing ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a lot of requests to continue this particular story. So, in heart of continuation, here's part two, dedicated to cherrychapstick, Agent047, and nikkitin. The rest of the requests will be done in the order I've received them. This is super fun, let's continue shall we?

_Laura Hollis. Laura Goddamn Hollis._  
_She stood at the end of a long and red dirt road, lined by brush and horizon adorned with trees. The wind was threading her honey air into fingers, and she looked like she was right about to turn around, the curve of her cheekbone traceable. The tip of her nose and line of her jaw highlighted by sun._  
_She was running to join her. Or trying to. Her legs felt like they were swimming through cement, her arms swinging uselessly._  
_Wait, there's a panther. That's cool and everything, but why is there a fucking panther. What does that even mean-_

She woke up with a sharp inhale whistling through her nose. The familiar darkness of her room fell back into place, clashing with the foreign remnants of her dream. The two twisted her stomach.

She groped groggily for her phone, eyeing the time.

Two minutes before her alarm would be going off.

“Shit.”

She thought she left it all behind in the wrinkles of her pillow case, and that if she peeled herself from the sheets and got dressed and closed her door tight it would stay there or evaporate like most dreams do.

Besides, she wasn't the superstitious kind. Dreams were just chopped up reenactments, a rehash of the day.

But it didn't. 

It followed her downstairs and hung over her shoulder like a dead animal.

She ate her cereal, ignoring the verbal gutting mother was giving them both. Something about one of them not using a coaster and how she doesn't have time for such delinquency. Her spoon lingered a little too long, just under the cusp of her lip, and her brain instantly replayed how Laura's lips pressed there. 

She ignored that too.

Mother finally left for work and Will's head hit the table, her own lolling back over the top of her chair.

“Jesusssssssss,” Will groaned. 

Behind her closed eyelids, she watched Laura rise, the memory some unstoppable projector. Those eyelashes sweeping shut, coming in so close they were all she could see. She practically felt the hands on her shoulders. Small but strong.

“Agreed,” she muttered. 

She brushed her hair as if she could comb it out and traced her eyes as if she could make herself look like some other girl it had no power over. She scrubbed her teeth clean of it, physically summoning the willpower to metaphorically wash her hands of it, and Will idly fixed his hair in the mirror, wearing the same shirt as yesterday.

“What do you mean she's interested in someone else,” he muttered, trying to tame a cowlick.

She rolled her eyes and spat out minty foam.

“Pretty self explanatory.”

“Well I'm going to punch that kid in the dick,” he declared, spraying himself with a violent amount of Axe. 

She gagged-- she had been gargling for fuck's sake-- and rushed out before she too, smelt like a jackass.

“Yeah, because fighting like a deer in rutting season really gets a girl's heart racing,” she heaved, eyes watering. She shook it off, walking down the hall in hopes he'd shut up already.

But where there was Will, there was a way, and he always found it.

“Or I could put One by U2 in her locker. Good, solid, angsty love song.”

“That's about an abusive relationship--” she started then whirled, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Unless you want me to re-break your clavicle, you're going to stop reminding me of the grotesque fact that you're a fuck boy.”

“Damn, okay _Mom,_ ” he smirked, holding up his hands. Then frowned, his brow scrunching. “Wait, Mom always said you didn't mean to shove me off the playground...”

Her lip curled slowly, and a rare look of horror passed through Will's eyes. 

“You bitch. I was seven,” he said, somewhat impressed.

“Yeah, well, it gave you a wicked curve ball,” she said. “Your turn to drive. And roll your window down you smell like a middle school dance.”

–

She stalked down the campus, black shorts and a varsity jacket, the sun flaring off her aviators. By this time, she should be on autopilot, the only thing tucked under her arm the thick binder for AP Lit and her own ravaged copy of Kipling's _The Jungle Book._ But her stomach was buzzing. Fluttering. Like it was full of moths dinging around a hot light bulb.

She told herself the milk might've been bad. Or that it was Will's douche colonge.

Definitely wasn't the incoming Elle Pashner, platinum blonde hair almost blinding in the morning sun, her cronies already giggling and gaping at Carmilla as if she bothered to know their names. 

Elle pretended to walk by just as unaffected. But she saw her green irises flash over the pair of heart shaped sunglasses. 

It was code, all bedroom eyes and forbidden fruit. And she used to raise a brow, sending back the same message. 

She simply turned her head. She could practically hear Pashner's shock. 

“Hey.”

She stopped. Her heart launched itself up somewhere into her throat. The moths in her stomach multiplied.

Laura stood there in a shirt littered with tiny plaid giraffes, a navy blue skirt skimming the top of her knees. She wasn't wearing a headband today, her caramel hair gently roped into a side braid, some shy smile beaming from every pore--

“You're here early,” Laura remarked, snapping her attention.

“Yeah,” she replied nonchalantly. 

“I didn't find a CD in my locker,” Laura continued, unfazed.

“I told him you were interested in someone else,” she shrugged.

“O-oh,” Laura sputtered, shifting her weight to the other shoe. “How'd he take it?”

“He's licking his wounds. But mom just caught him not using a coaster, so he's grounded forever.”

Laura giggled. Bless her heart, she thought she was joking. Her laugh was tinkering, like little bells. The corner of her lip almost curled up too.

Almost.

Laura's face suddenly worried, her eyes darting.

“Did you tell him...about...”

“No.” 

Laura nodded slowly. She let the sounds of Mrs. Lophi arriving to unlock the door fill the silence between them. Being a short and round woman with huge and nearly glowing glasses, she tended to make a lot of noise. Laura's eyes finally stopped searching her face, glancing down instead.

“So...have you seen Kick-Butt 2?” she murmured. Her fingers snared together at her stomach. “Because I have it at my house...”

“I'm busy this weekend,” she lied.

“Oh,” Laura said. Her head had popped back up so eagerly at the sound of her voice. That very eagerness slipped from her expression, and with a blink she could see the numbing beginnings of disappointment. 

“Right,” Laura finished. She turned around without another word. Mrs. Lophi's TA, Lola Perry, stared at her with a wince from the door.

She felt her brow furrow behind her bangs.

Mrs. Lophi slapped the board with her pointing stick, her coarse voice rumbling about Mowgli's wolf pack. 

Laura hadn't raised her hand once.  
And Perry only stopped giving her that worried, nearly maternal look to shoot daggers Carmilla's way.

Well, there goes her easy A in this course.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She edged it out, glancing down.

_Elle Bitcho:_

_Parents out of town this weekend. Come over ;)_

Of course. The second she didn't give her an inch of attention, she was all over her again. It was like quitting cigarettes and being oddly drawn by their awful stench. 

She mused deleting the text altogether. Instead, she absentmindedly replied, her eyes once again finding Laura's back. 

_Super. Have fun with your boy toy._

–

The rest of the day glided over, clouds in a day dream.  
Laura had been the first one up when the bell rang and the first one out of the classroom. She had lingered, telling herself she was tired this morning when really, she didn't feel like watching her go.

She was cold hearted, not stupid.

Somehow, that girl had squirmed up under her skin. 

And if she knew what was good for her, she'd cut herself out already.

She passed the swarm of girls leaving the locker rooms and wasn't at all surprised to find Elle standing besides her locker, dressed in the little red and gold number Silas called a “cheerleader's uniform.”

State Championships were coming up. She must getting nervous. Just another reason to blow off steam with good ol' fashioned, rough, mostly one sided lesbianism. 

“Carm,” she greeted all too warmly. 

“Pillow Princess, your majesty,” she smiled leeringly.

“Listen, I'm sorry about the damage control,” Elle said in anything but an apologetic tone. “I'm not gay, and Adam wouldn't stop telling people what he saw until I threatened to send the entire school a picture of his tiny d--”

“No, you're not gay,” she interrupted, tying her hair up into a bun. “You're probably bi. Which is fine unless you lie about it to everyone and their mom and use it as some sort of excuse to cheat.”

“Since when do you have a problem with me cheating?” Elle scoffed. Carmilla opened her locker and the girl huffed.

“I said I was sorry. Besides, you told me you liked the whole “dirty little secret thing.”

“Dirty as in the sex, not dragging my name through shit to make you look clean,” she said, already bored with the entire conversation.

“Okay, I'm like...yousexual,” Elle muttered, her hands touching the back of Carmilla's shoulders, her head resting between them. “I don't know, you're just...you. Nobody gets me off like that.”

“Wow, the poetry is just killer here,” she said, shrugging her off. “Find another guinea pig, Pashner. Not happening.”

“Oh fuck you, Karnstein,” Elle snapped, storming out.

“You wish you could, Elle,” she called after her.

She heard the sound of footsteps, her runner's instinct flaring once more. She steeled her tongue, ready to stab this shit once and for all. 

“Back for more abuse?” she asked, closing her locker and finding Laura with an inner jolt.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Laura mumbled, swinging her fist sideways in a tepid gung-ho fashion.

“Thought you were someone else,” she said.

“Perhaps Pasher?” Laura replied, wincing. “Just passed her in the hall. She looked...”

“P.O'ed?”

“Yes,” Laura grinned, though it stopped short from meeting her eyes. “Pretty neat stuff. Anyway.” She looked down, twiddling her thumbs. “I'm sorry. For yesterday. I should've just said it instead of. Y'know.”

There were plenty of things she could say to that.  
Plenty of things she could do about that.

She went with the ever charming “you're not in your uniform.”

Laura gave a half shrug.  
“Yeah, I told Coach Belmonde I have some projects at home. I just wanted to apologize,” she shrugged, quirking her mouth to the side.

“You apologize way too much, Hollis,” she said, her voice softening.

Laura seemed to hear it. She perked, and God, she couldn't look away from the amber in her gaze--

“Oh my God. I told you, this is too precious,” Elle snorted, and Laura whipped around. Elle scowled at her under a teasing simper, her two favorite lack wits giggling at her sides.

“You're _still_ here?” Carmilla groaned in exasperation.

“You know, it's always so obvious,” Elle said, stepping inches away from Laura and staring her down. “The little girls who dress up like they're in the second grade and never swear and blush whenever they have to talk about genitals in biology class. Underneath it all, they're always hiding some real sick fantasies.”

“We don't even have the same biology class,” Laura frowned, crossing her arms. “I'm in AP Bio and you barely passed the eighth grade.”

“Ohhh,” Elle laughed. “Look who's got _jokes._ ”

She went to shove Laura at the last word. Emphasis on 'went,' because Laura's hand swatted hers away in a blur.

Carmilla's brow raised, an amused shot of breath escaping her. _Be still my beating heart._

“Ow!” Elle snapped, her minions instantly inspecting her oh so fragile hand. “What the fuck--”

“Two words: Kra maga!” Laura exclaimed, squaring her shoulders. “Or maybe one. I am not fluent in Israeli.”

“Oh my God, you're such a closet baby dyke. And an obvious virgin. Those are always a lot more fun for you, though, huh Carm?” she hissed.

And she was ready for this to be over three sentences ago, but fine.

“You want to talk about some real sick fantasies?” Carmilla chuckled, stepping between the two and getting close enough for only Elle to hear. “Weren't you the one who said you have to think about me to get yourself through a blow job?”

Elle's jaw dropped, a fierce pink raging across her face.

“Yeah whatever she said!” Laura hollered over her shoulder.

“Fuck off!” one of the girls behind Elle replied. They seemed to sense their utter lack of importance here, backing up and pulling at Elle to come with them.

“Learn to take rejection, sweetheart,” she whispered her way. “It's going to happen a lot to you.”

“This isn't over,” Elle snapped, yanking her arm away from her friends but still following them out.

“It's so over it's yesterday!” Laura yelled, and all three cheerleader's turned with a collectively confused expression.

“OK let me handle the insults,” Carmilla said, and Laura shook her head, slowly exhaling as if she were about to go ham.

“She is _such_ a Draco Malfoy,” she grumbled heatedly. 

“Yeah, she leaves a pretty bad taste in your mouth,” she agreed.

Their eyes met, and Laura's smile lingered. She told herself she looked away to close the lock on her cubby when really, she didn't feel like watching it fade again.

“Thanks for having my back. I know you don't...I'm not your type,” Laura said. “But. At least being friends is neat.”

“Friends,” she repeated with a slight frown.

Laura smiled, a bittersweet little shrug with her lips. They parted ways, and it took everything in her willpower not to look back.

–

Her shoes beat down the track. Her breath came out in short, ragged spurts. She pushed herself to go faster.

Her irritation towards Elle had been burned out minutes into her second lap.  
And she had been really, really banking on at least having her mind cleared.

But past the blood churning and the wind rushing her ears and her heart pounding where it seemed to be stuck and tangled behind her throat, Laura remained.

Only this time, it wasn't that clumsy little kiss in the hallway.

It was her eyes falling to the ground and her cheerful disposition failing and the fact that she had apologized for unknowingly winning every fragment of her attention.

“Fuck,” she panted.

Get a hold of yourself, Karnstein. The sooner she forgot about all this the better--

She passed the gate that opened up onto the field and her eye snagged on someone.

Lola Perry. She must be here to talk to Danny, whom had just arrived. Danny was stretching and Perry turned to face the tall redhead.

She nearly skidded to a stop.

On the back of Perry's denim coat was a bedazzled panther.

She wasn't the superstitious kind. She found zodiac signs pointless. She once made fun of Will for an hour for holding his breath through a tunnel to make a wish. And dreams weren't prophetic. They were coincidental. 

But the moths were suddenly back, burning themselves and igniting each other, the sharp taste of adrenaline washing down her tongue.

Her feet were already changing direction, Danny looking up to glare.

“What do you want,” she challenged, getting up. Anyone else may have been intimidated by her sheer height alone. She ignored it entirely, snatching up her converse and quickly switching foot gear.

“Perry!” she barked, the TA staring down with electrically wide blue eyes, “where does Laura live?”

“Oh, now you want that information?” Danny said in near disbelief. “I think you've done enough--”

“Three blocks down. Reindeer Street, 705,” Perry said simply. 

“What the hell Perry!” Danny exclaimed.

But she was off again, hurtling the chain link fence. She flew through the parking lot and raced down the street. She passed a large black dog, setting it off in a barking spree, the coffee shop, the gas station, the playground, dashing over lawns and sidewalks.

All the while, the zone returned, flooding her veins with a gorgeous, instinctual purpose.

705 was a sky blue house with white trim and a hand painted sign over the doorbell that said “Hollis Home.”

She bounded up to the small cement stairs, nearly tripping over the very alarming amount of garden gnomes and knocked on the door.

Her chest was on fire, her lungs berating her. And if she had gone another block at that speed, she very well could have pulled a hammy. 

But the door swung open, and Laura stared at her with large, wet red eyes, and it all fell away.

“Carmilla?” she murmured, as if she was waking up from a dream and couldn't discern between the two just yet.

“Did...did you just run all the way here?” Laura filled the silence herself, wiping her red nose because she had been crying, hadn't she. 

“Because that's insane. And you don't really strike me as the type of person who would just run all the way to some random girl's house for no good reason. And I know I shouldn't be thinking it, because your brother has a thing for me and you probably don't want to go there and we've already had this talk. But I've kind of had a massive crush on you since I first saw you freshman year and...”

Her words died away, Carmilla stepping inside and closing the door behind her. 

She swallowed roughly, staring up into her eyes.

“And...and if we're going to do this, I'm more of a monogamous kind of girl, and you're definitely not going to sleep with Draco Malfoy ever again-”

Her hands rose slowly, cupping the sides of Laura's face. Her skin was smooth and heated from blushing, and her eyelids fluttered shut, a shaky little exhale leaving her in lieu of words.

Her thumb brushed away a tiny stray tear. Laura tilted her head, her entire little body stiffening. 

Without another hesitation, she brushed her lips against Laura's. 

This time was slower, and she pulled back just enough to see the smile she could feel erupting. Laura let out a small, gleeful sound, towing her back in to kiss her again. And again, their fronts touching. And again, Laura's arms wrapping around her neck, Carmilla hugging her waist tight, their mouths moving in wonderful synch.

A different sort of gleeful sound left Laura, more breathy and deep, her fingers lacing together across the back of Carm's head. It felt better than running. Better than winning a race or besting Will, better than convincing some girl that she wouldn't kiss and tell, better than cold tea on the hottest day in August or the wind on the beach or the sun rising over snow.

Better entering this zone with her.

Laura parted their lips too soon, and she had to remind herself that Laura was different, and different demanded a whole helluva lot more than sinking to the carpet and hiking up that skirt.

“Whoa, there, lady killer,” she giggled nervously, reaching down and easing Carmilla's hands from her lower hips.

Well. She didn't remember putting those there. Different would require some practice. And patience.

“Shit. Sorry,” she said, snorting at the way Laura was laughing like tiny bells and feeling all sorts of tingly. 

“So...Kick-Butt 2?”


	3. Apples to Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone is messing with the fruit store she works at, and Laura is on the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For astronauts, who requested this adorable idea. Hope I nailed it, friend!

There was never a simple answer to the question, “why journalism?”

It was sort of like describing what it felt like to go on a metaphorical hunt. The high she got when she found something unexplained in pieces but an epiphany together. The nearly blood hound urge to bound after it on a trail being illuminated right before her eyes, each clue turning over to reveal a little more.

And she had just inwardly and extensively described the child's show Blue's Clues.  
Whatever, it was an innate ability she possessed. And one she wanted to hone for the greater good. 

Also, working at a store that exclusively sold fruit got really, _really_ monotonous.   
The only customers were old people buying all of their prunes for their body's ravenous fiber needs and fellow college students trying to keep scurvy at bay with their all ramen diets. And her father was pleased-- tarantulas hitch hiking bananas aside, it was the safest job she could be stuck in part time. 

Which meant she had to take what she could get.

Her first victory was ambushing the hooligan whom had been taking it upon themselves to scale their small and red building to spray paint their name, “Apples to Apples,” into “Apples to CrApples.” Which, she supposed was funny if you read it as “Apples to Crap-holes” but it was a stretch. She had staked out the store front and the second she saw that frat boy shaking a can, she had scrambled out of her car and tackled him.

It was ruled as “excessive and unnecessary,” but a citizen's arrest is a citizen's arrest, and the Zeta Fraternity no longer hazed their pledges by forcing them to vandalize their store.

Her second was coming.   
Soon.  
Any time now.

She refused to look at the clock. Last time she did, she swore it actually ticked backwards. She huffed a loose bang and turned to face the tangerines. Someone had left a single banana among them. She picked it up to return it, passing the strawberries.

Among them was another single banana.   
She plucked it with a slight frown. 

She eyed the tomatoes. They were up next and yep what do you know.  
The fourth banana, its stem barely sticking out from beneath them. Misplacing something or being too lazy to walk it back after changing your mind was one thing. This was clearly another.

Just how many bananas came in a bunch, anyway. 

She circled past the dried fruit bags, her eyes wary for yellow.   
There. Atop the dehydrated pears. She had five bananas now, and her gut was stirring. All these bananas. In a row. As if someone had picked up a bunch, snapped each from the stem, and placed it down as they went.  
And if that was right, then the sixth should be by the pineapples. 

It was.

But. If the trajectory remained consistent, then...  
She stood before the unisex bathroom, her eyes wide.

No. Someone did _not_ just waltz into the bathroom and stick a banana in there. Perry, the manager, would pass out if she caught that. Or caught her walking in with six. She bit her lip, eyes darting. No one else was near. If she was fast enough.

She inhaled tightly and gave the door a rapid knock. No one answered. The knob turned freely in her hand. She closed the door behind her, and if it weren't for what she saw in the sink, she would've turned right back out again.

The mirror was eye level and she had caught her expression. No one should look that nervous and excited about bananas. Just...no one. She really needed to find another job if this was going to be the high light of her day.

There wasn't even a banana.  
It was an orange.

Bemused, she picked it up. It was only by sheer, dumb luck that her eye caught it in the mirror. There was something written on the back of the fruit's skin in thick, sharpie lines. She rolled it over in her fingers and stared. 

_Orange you glad it isn't banana._

“My God,” she hissed.

A knock knock joke. A childish, simple knock knock joke. Or was it simple. 

Who on earth would go through all that in hopes someone would manage to notice.  
What, where, when, why—and again, most importantly—who.

And just like that, it began.

“Okay, updates,” LaF demanded in the break room.

Laura pulled out her pocket notebook, reading her entries off.

“April 15th: Multiple pairs of tomatoes are placed around the store. Each one is placed slightly behind the other with the post it reading “Wait up.” The last one is besides a ketchup bottle. As in. Catch up.”

“That is the worst pun I have ever had the displeasure of hearing,” LaF remarked. “Or. We have a Pulp Fiction fan.”

“April 16th: There is a single lime in the coconuts. And I haven't gotten that song out of my head since.”

“Oh no now it's in mine,” LaF grimaced.

“April 17th: Kirsch says he was stocking the jams and, unsurprisingly, got distracted by flirting with Danny. When he turned around, someone had placed music notes to seven of the gooseberry jars.”

“Jams,” LaF groaned, and she was beginning to suspect that they had some sort of adverse reaction to this type of thing.

“And today-- April 18th: Grapes have been stacked and built into some sort of border between the raisins and the plums. They seem to wind around the raisins, rising up into towers and lowering into bridges again, detail's just too much. Not sure what that's about, but Perry's freaking because she thinks someone did it with their bare hands, and now she's attempting to wipe them off one by one.”

LaF's eyes widened, their fingers curling at their temples. “Laura.”

“What.”

“The _Grape_ Wall of China.”

“For Pete's Sake,” she spat, dropping her pencil so her fingers could strangle the air in front of her. “I don't get it. This place is minuscule. We would’ve seen them by now. This isn't right. It's not even human.”

“It only further proves my thesis,” LaF shrugged.

“Lay it on me,” she replied.

LaF brightened, lowering their voice in case Perry was near. “OK: all this has been happening around dawn or dusk. They've gotten past every eyeball or sense. They have all the time to do these really awful, barbaric puns. They're rearranging everything to their liking. So clearly...”

They paused, face in vacant expectancy for Laura to state what they felt was obvious.

“Someone who's just as bored as we are?”

“A vampire,” LaF said, face quirking in a very “duh” like expression. “In some lore, they have OCD like tendencies, forcing them to only come into places they've been invited into or even being distracted by counting things.”

“...Did you get that from the vampire episode of the X-Files...” Laura squinted.

“It has credence elsewhere,” muttered LaF, scratching the back of their head. “Regardless, you should put some garlic out. See what happens.”

“Or,” Laura said, an inspiration slowly unfurling in her head, “I can just play too.”

–

She stepped back, admiring her work. 

“OK, what you think,” she muttered. 

On one of the watermelons, she had taped a post it with a crudely drawn dog.

LaF's lips were pinched together, their brow furrowed. “I'm not following.”

“It's a border collie. Like. Melon collie,” Laura said, air drawing a circle around the entire fruit.

“...We can't be friends anymore,” LaF said tightly.

“See? It's so awful it's perfect!” she beamed, lightly swatting LaF's shoulder. 

LaF flinched, looking as if they were truly about to vomit. “No I'm serious, get out that's really bad.”

When Laura clocked back in the next day, however, LaF seemed to have turned over a new leaf. 

“Laura!” she hollered, grabbing her arm and yanking her away before she could even put a apron on. Her feet stopped sliding and started running instead. They hurtled down the aisles and nearly peeled out getting to the apple stands. And Laura stared, her mouth forming a perfect little 'Oh.'

They slammed into Perry's office, nearly knocking over the wastebasket and slapping the phone off the receiver.

“867.5309,” LaF called off the number, Laura punching it in.

“It's ringing,” Laura announced, stiffening.

“Oh man,” LaF said.

“What,” asked Perry, who had been sitting inside all along, staring at them as if they had barged in demanding a bucket of toenails. 

The ring tone clicked. There was a space of silence, like the tiny gap of air you suck in when you're about to fall out of a chair. 

“Hello,” a girl answered.

A girl. A girl with a very sultry voice, all dusk and murmurs.

“Hi,” Laura blurted, LaF instantly trying to hit speaker phone and Laura smacking their hand away. “I work in a fruit store-- Apples to Apples. And you come in every day and rearrange everything on the shelves and today you spelled out “CALL ME” in granny smiths.”

“Well, you sound awfully excited for someone who's never seen me,” she chuckled.

Laura felt a rush of blood stain her ears and cheeks red, her eyelids fluttering in some sort of short circuiting realization. “Oh. You meant. _Call me._ Call me.”

“That I did.”

“So...you've been flirting with me this entire time.”

Now Perry tried to get to the speaker phone button, and again, Laura slapped her fingers away.

“You just looked so bored. And very cute when you're excited.”

“Alright,” she said, the words nearly a dare to herself. “Meet me at Scents, the coffee shop. 6 o'clock.”

“It's a date,” the girl replied and she almost sounded like she was purring, and how anyone could do that with their voice she didn't know-

“Laura,” LaF gasped, pointing. She followed their gaze and stared. 

“You taped an actual date to the phone,” she exhaled. 

“What kind of monster are you!” demanded LaF loudly into Laura's ear. The girl chuckled again.

“The best kind.”

– 

“Okay, the second she starts getting all crazy eyed, which she surely will, text me and I'll call you so you have an out,” Perry said casually, as if it were a common dating tip.

“Throw some straws on the ground to get away, she'll have to count them,” LaF added.

“Really, LaFontaine. Vampires again. Did you get that from Sesame Street with the Count?” Perry asked, hands akimbo. 

“It's an actual myth,” LaF strained.

“Guys,” Laura said, “I got this. Also, we all really need to get out more. Yeah. This is too exciting for all of us.”

“Good luck honey!” Perry waved from the door, abruptly changing the subject. 

“Remember! Nothing lives without its head!” LaF called out besides her.

Laura frowned. Why everyone felt the need to protect or infantilize her, she didn't know. She could still feel their eyes pinned on her back, waiting until she got into her car in case someone else was too. 

She was nearly there when the black Mustang besides it opened, a head of dark curls emerging.  
Oh dang. She had to fight to keep her eyes on her car-- the girl besides her was stunning, her jaw and cheekbone fine lines and curves, her dark gaze instantly flickering her way.

“Hey,” the voice from the phone greeted, and Laura froze, key in hand. 

“You're...” she started, blinking, her tongue blank.

“The best kind of monster,” she said, her red lip curling upwards in a Cheshire smile. She extended her hand, the last rays of sunset painting her pale skin in luminescent pinks and orange. 

“Laura,” she replied with the type of grin that erupts from your control, shaking her hand. 

“Well, I took you for more of a bike type. Figured I'd give you a ride. Looks like we ought to get to know another better,” she said. Her fingers were lingering around Laura's, and she had to remember how to speak. 

“Yeah, question number one, are you a vampire or something?” 

Oh God, why in all of Hogwarts did she say that.

But the girl shook her head with a half shrug, eyes crinkling, and unholy night demon or not, Laura's heart skipped at that smile.

“Case in point,” she murmured. “If you'd like, we can take my car. Promise to return you in one piece.”

She winked at the last word, that simper remaining under black, warming coal eyes, and Laura nodded.

“I'd like that.”

She couldn't help but feel adventurous. Bold. A little wild. This was part of the chase, the pieces all lined up and ready to be placed together to form the big picture. 

Something in her gut told her thi-- 

“Ey yo bro! Can we get a name?!” hollered LaF, and Laura whirled to give them and Perry her best warning eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, nerves fraying her tone. “Guess I shouldn't be getting into the car of a complete stranger with the folks watching.”

“Carmilla,” she replied, more to Laura than to anyone else, as if she were the last person left in the world. It was an answer that only burst into questions, all of them buzzing about her head. 

This girl would be quite the case.


	4. Black Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For MysteriousOgre, who sent me the hilarious awfulaublog quote that you will find in this story. Hope I did it justice, you wonderful ogre you.

There are going to be times, her father claimed, that you are going to feel as if fate itself is trying to kill you.  
Being that he was the sort of man who believed even walking to the mailbox could end in some sort of mauling, she always perceived it to be another safety lecture.  
The trick is, he would say, to remember that while fate is half luck and half chance, it only won if you let it.

It couldn't help but come to mind now, as she dodged yet another dive bomb with an embarrassingly loud squeal.

“I'm really, really sorry Laura,” LaF apologized for the umpteenth time, sitting on their couch with a defeated, scolded dog air about them. 

“It's okay,” she smiled assuredly, though it was a strained, nervous one. “It's actually really impressive that you got our entire upstairs turned into a bat cave.”

“The signal wasn't supposed to work this well,” LaF groaned, digging fingers into their temples. “One or two bats would've been amazing. But an entire murder of them? Perr's gonna kill me.”

There was a high pitched chattering, something fluttering overhead and tossing shadows about the room from the overhead light, and Laura quickly held her laptop over her head.

“I'll just run down to the library and finish my Critical Thinking Post Apocalypse final there,” she said. “You can come with me if you want.”

“Captain's gotta sink with their ship,” LaF said, shaking their head. They reached up and pulled the visor down on their motorcycle helmet, picking their hockey stick back up. 

It was drizzling across the campus, students ducking under arch ways or hustling through puddles. She twirled her yellow umbrella, watching the droplets shoot off. Maybe she'd stop by the cafe for a hot chocolate. She had yet to fall victim to the coffee-red-bull-five hour energy bit, something that left her roommates and friends certain she was secretly addicted to cocaine. 

Truth was, she was just that happy, go lucky kid excited to be away from home for the first time. She didn't understand why everyone else was so twitchy and stressed. Then again, she found ten page essays relaxing. 

Whatever the case, her only final left was online, notes and extra tab open fine by their professor, and this got her out of the currently besieged house. 

She strolled up the stairs that led to the library's first floor, stopping at the yellow xeroxed sign taped to its glass door.

“Library temporarily closed due to _leaking?_ ” she frowned. It was only then that she noticed the ankle high water lapping against the apparently water sealed door. And the rat currently swimming through it. Dang. She knew this school was a little strange when she noticed Annual Goat Sacrifice on the social calender. But maybe Death Week had too literal of a meaning here.

Oh well. She had already planned to stop by the cafe. She felt prepared, what with her headphones in pocket for noise and the rain hopefully keeping too many from venturing out and cramming up the place.

Said cafe was entirely crammed up-- it looked nearly like a sardine can from outside. What, did the rain instinctively drive people to skip class? Did it make them flock out to get watery coffee and stale muffins like a bunch of lemmings?

She exhaled slowly through her lips, closing her eyes. There were alternatives. Places outside campus before the woods around them got too thick and dark. She still had plenty of time to complete her exam. 

This was good exercise, a change up from sitting around, cardio and what not. This meant even more time for LaF to get her experimentation out of the house. 

Sure, the wind was beginning to really pick up and drag the rain sideways, pelting her jeans and neck and hands with frigid water, her eyes blinking in flinches. At least she had this nice raincoat keeping her torso dry, and her laptop was safe inside the confines of her satchel.

And the sidewalk was very wet and almost ludicrously thin between the now seeping mud and cars and bicycles whipping past her oh my God could that person have driven any closer to the curb. The tires heaved up a miniature tidal wave, soaking straight through her sneakers and little Hufflepuff socks. Well...well the cold makes you feel alive and she could use that wake up to finish the exam.

And it was beginning to _hail sideways good lord man what had she done to deserve this abuse._

She nearly ate it scampering along the now slick as shit sidewalk, her sides beginning to sting. The sky was darkening and was that thunder she heard?

The cautionary tale her father had once told her about a boy whom had been struck by lightening because his umbrella had a steel frame and his shoes didn't have rubber insoles drove her the last block up to Mugshots, the last real coffee house that hadn't been bulldozed by a Starbucks just yet. But thankfully wasn't nearly as packed because of said Starbucks a quarter mile away.

She yanked her umbrella closed and stuffed it in the drying basket at the door, glad she had chosen not to waste time with make up or hair straighteners today. It would've all run down her face by now. She snatched up a table and sat down with a rough, relieved exhale.

OK-- she had already gotten through the worst of the day. So now it was all downhill. It had to be, because her satchel was damp and for a second she feared she had drowned her laptop.   
It was dry inside and she thanked Neptune and baby Jesus and whoever else must've had her back before setting it on the table. 

She stripped off her wet coat and logged back into her student portal, letting the alternative rock chill her vibes, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and grated nutmeg calming her down even more. She had thirty minutes left. Totally enough time to answer twenty more questions thanks to her aggressive studying and the three different colored pens she used to take notes.

_Alright, where was I? Annnnddd here we go. Question 26: If and when a biochemically engineered disease breaks loose and goes viral among the populace of a city, it is best to evacuate immediately because:_   
_A. Risk of contamination_   
_B. Riots breaking out resulting in looting and destruction of property_   
_C. Risk of military using napalm to clean out infected_   
_D. All of the abov--_

The artificial version of a bell binged, a small warning window flashing open along her sidebar. 

“Twenty seven percent battery life remaining?” she grumbled aloud before abruptly remembering how much she had abused her battery from binge watching Doctor Who on Netflix as she fell asleep.

Of course, she had brought her charger. But she hadn't thought about that before picking a chair-- there didn't seem to be an outlet in the wall besides her. Or the table over, which was full of very pretentious looking hipsters gripping about how lame everyone was for liking Steve Jobs and American consumerism while on their Apple products, so no big loss there. 

OK. Deep breath.

She got up, pretending she was going to order something else, her eyes scanning. It wasn't a very large building at all, so the search was over fairly quickly.   
A small, white square with not one but two empty outlets, there in the back right hand corner.

Which may have felt like a victory complete with an immaculate chorus singing in her head if it weren't for the girl seated in front of them.

Dark eyes and even darker eyeliner, black hair curling down her shoulders like millions of strand sized, pissed off cat tails. Reclined in a leather jacket with the pants to match, her boots up on the chair across from her. She wasn't even drinking out of a coffee cup. It was a fountain soda, the straw clamped between her lips, a weather beaten copy of Heart of Darkness open in hand.

It should be all stereotypical, but on her it was badass, some sort of cross between Han Solo and Sirius Black. The fact that she happened to be drop dead gorgeous had nothing to do with that assumption.

Whatever the case, there was no way in Narnia she was sitting there. 

Alright, fate had taken a big, steaming pile all over her day. But her part of it was finishing twenty more questions in twenty five minutes with twenty percent battery life.

She was at eighteen questions when her computer announced thirteen percent, demanding to be plugged in soon.

“Damn you David Tennant,” she snapped under her breath, her heart kicking in her chest as the panic kicked in. Colors prickled the back of her eyeballs, her ability to read the questions evaporating. Her eyes just kept landing back on the warning sign, the tiny digital numbers clicking down besides it.   
And if she wasn't already a mess, she certainly was now.

She couldn't fail an online class. It was like, the easiest class in the world. She had literally and barely added it to get the prerequisite out of her way, not to unhinge her reality and hurtle her straight into crazy town.

_It only wins if you let it._  
Was that Obi-Wan? Dumbledore?  
No. It was her father. A Hollis.

And she was definitely a Hollis.

Her palms were sweaty, knees weak, arms heavy. There was an old stain on this sweater, back from Dad's spaghetti. But she stood up, tossing her damp coat over her arm, grabbing her bag in one hand and her laptop in the other.

She walked right out into that dark little corner, the girl only looking up when she was practically on top of her. It was a bored, impatient kind of stare that should've sent her packing.

But witness the defense mechanism integral to the survival of the rare _nerdicus maximus_ , commonly referred to as Laura Hollis:

Word vomit.

“There’s only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you’re sitting right in front of it and you’re not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I’m taking, so whatever I don’t care how intimidatingly attractive you are I’m sitting down at your table to plug my shit in.” 

For a wild, free falling second, the girl regarded her with black eyes. The sort of darkness in the pin point pupils of a tiger. 

Even the hipsters had shut up to watch.

The lips around the straw curled up slowly, just enough to show the tips of white teeth and the peak of a tongue. 

The chair her feet were resting on nudged out with a groan, her leather boots leaving to tap down on the floor instead.

She lunged down, dropping her things haphazardly on the floor and plugging in her cord on both ends. Her screen launched into a brighter setting, the charger blinking like a dazed animal.

She rushed through, skim reading the questions, taking only thirty seconds to mull it over and tapping a bubble blue. 

And with only a single minute to spare, she clicked 'submit' and let her head thump to the table.

“Oh. Am I interrupting something?”

Laura's brow furrowed. British? Miss eyeliner McLeather pants was British?

She raised her exhausted head slowly only to stare at yet another stunning woman studying her with a mild amount of interest.

“You really ought to let someone know when you've found yourself with _other_ company,” she murmured, eyes flickering up and down Laura with a bounce of her fine brow. “It's basic manners, Carmilla.”

“Hold on, Mattie,” 'Carmilla' said, meeting Laura's eye with an awful lot more interest. “She called me 'intimidatingly attractive.”

She felt herself turn a violent shade of pink. She had said that, hadn't she? Damn adrenaline. 

Mattie's smile turned into a perfect little 'oh' and she sat down besides them, resting a chin on her hand. “How... _poetic._ ”

Carmilla snorted, bringing the straw back to her lips with a not so subtle curl of her tongue. Between the two, she felt like a wadded up bran muffin.

“Well, Carm, would you like to invite her along?” 

“I think she might've just fried herself with that test,” Carmilla said, looking back at Laura with those perfectly shaped, lash flagged eyes. “Tell you what, sweetheart. Call me when you're feeling a little less frazzled.”

She reached across the table, scooping up one of Laura's hands and gently tugging it over. Her soft skin and black painted nails sent little currents up through Laura's arm and how she was writing her number in sharpie across her palm without breaking eye contact, Laura was too stupefied to know. 

“Really,” Mattie said in what sounded like an insulting amount of judgment.

“What can I say,” Carmilla shrugged, releasing Laura's hand. “I'm a sucker for poets.”

If at all possible, Laura's insides liquefied even more, and she could only watch as Carmilla got up and left with Mattie, looking back one more time to shoot her a crooked smile.

Half luck half chance indeed.


	5. The Dog Days are Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carmilla's decision to get a dog leads to more than she thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is cherrychapstick's request. And shit did I get carried away. But I had a feeling that you wanted something saucy.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr here: http://gottabone2pick.tumblr.com/

There was nothing wrong with being alone. 

In the current, social media fueled society, it was seen as some sort of leprosy, a creeping illness that would slowly cripple you until you were some mangled, moldy old hermit counting buttons you had snatched off children coats.

It originated from “all one,” and it was supposed to be the time you shut out everything else and listened to the world turn. You're supposed to become your best friend, your skin should feel like your favorite sweater, your thoughts should be your own. 

Loneliness was entirely different.

Loneliness was sitting in a crowd of people you didn't feel would laugh at your jokes or think your ideas were clever.  
It was howling out into the night and wishing your echo was someone else responding. 

It was an infestation, a festering thing that bred on the edges of worn out photo albums; it itched in the sheets on the empty side of bed you woke up a little closer to; it crawled along the one towel hanging over the shower and in the cupboards that only housed a single mug and bowl and plate. 

But if you asked her, sometimes one meant having the other. Happiness and contentment were achieved through compromise and sacrifice, and so be it. 

She told herself the photos of her brother and mother were mostly staged, the three of them staring into the camera hairs apart and baring their teeth in front of the Eiffel Tower or the Pyramids some sort of acting.  
That she found her arm tossed over the unused pillow because she moved in her sleep, and it was a sign she was getting restless in this sleepy little town and it was time to fly again.

She only bought another mug because she was tired of washing the old one out every time she had to use it. 

She only called her brother because she was bored and it was relentlessly entertaining to pester him.

“What do you want,” he groaned on the other line. 

“I got a dog,” she said as casually as she would mention her new mug.

“ _You what,_ ” he said, sounding a little more awake. It was two am in the morning. “Planning a live sacrifice? Reinstating your deal with Satan?”

Her lip twisted wryly, and she eyed the dog laying in the middle of the living room on his side, his pointed ears perked her way.

“If I wanted to do that, I'd call Mom,” she said, reclining further on the couch. 

“I always took you for more of a crazy cat lady,” Will said.

“There's been a rash of burglaries lately,” she shrugged as if he could see. “And as fun as it would be to have an excuse to finally bludgeon someone to death with that little gargoyle statue I have to remind me of you, I figured it would be just as fun to watch him bite them.”

The dog closed his amber eyes and drifted back to sleep.

“One, a single look at your face and they'd turn to stone. Two, him? Are you even bothering to name him?” Will asked, surprised that she would refer to an animal more than “shoo.”

“Anubis,” she said. One of his ears twitched. “Although, I was tempted to call him Will.”

“Aw. Let me guess- he's something as black and ugly looking as your soul.”

“A Belgian Herder or whatever they call them. He's not that gruesome,” she sighed. “He was the only thing that wasn't yelping or barking in the pound.”

“You rescued him? Who are you and how did you kill my sister, I must reward you.”

“Oh Willy,” she said. “If only I was dead-- to never have to see you again, what a dream.”

He snorted, but beneath it she heard a faint rustle of sheets, some feminine voice mumbling in a whine.

She waited for his usual clamber out of bed and rolled her eyes, bracing herself for whatever Amber or Mackenzie or Amanda he had poached this week.

“Sorry, go back to sleep. Just Carmilla.”

She blinked. 

“Hey, lose my number already,” Will said back into the phone. It was something he always ended their conversations with, and something he had only been doing lately at this hour because of that one girl. What's her name, the one that looked horrified at their dinner conversation a month ago.

“Angelica's still putting up with you?” she scoffed. 

“Patrice-- how do you keep getting her name so wrong? Anyway, I hope you die--”

She hung up on him mid sentence. The phone lingered in her hand, and her brow furrowed. 

–

She woke up on the couch, Anubis curled on the floor beneath it. She stepped over him to make herself coffee and he grunted, getting up to stretch, his blunt claws tapping the tile as he padded after her.

She brushed her teeth, eyeing him as he sat before the bathroom door and watched her. For a second, she mused he was a grim and that she was being warned of her rapidly approaching demise. Maybe she'd trip and choke on her toothbrush. But the thought of being found mostly eaten by a hungry dog weeks after wasn't appealing, so she got dressed and clicked a collar around his shaggy neck.

Being in an apartment meant taking the dog downstairs to go. He walked besides her through the left turn down towards the elevator, plenty of slack on the leash between them. Too much slack. He didn't need to stand so close. 

He paused to sniff at 2043's door. Some obnoxious football player lived in 2043, Kirsch or Ken or whatever his name was. She paused to look at her phone, inwardly hoping Anubis would make himself useful and piss on his door frame when a low rumble met her ear instead.

She had the chance to glance at him, fur rustled, body pointed forward, before he lurched, yanking her forward.

There was a quick, high yap and she slammed into someone, her arm pulled awkwardly behind the small of their back by the leash now biting into her wrist and palm.  
She glared down at the tiny, fluffy loaf of bread looking thing that had dragged its own leash up the grooves behind her knees.  
A corgi, she recognized.  
How she knew that, she wasn't sure.

She pulled her head back enough and found herself nose to nose—chest to chest, hip to hip, the hairy little morons had wrangled them together to sniff at another-- with startled, fawn brown eyes.

“Sorry,” the girl squeaked with a fierce blush, her breath all toothpaste mint and sugar lip gloss. Her chin tucked into her neck as she looked down at her dog.

“Huff gets excited around other dogs-- looks like yours does too,” she said, her voice suddenly brightening. “Oh, he's gorgeous. Is that a Belgian Sheppard?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled lamely. “Uh. Here.”

She let go of her leash, letting the damn hell hound move, and the girl dropped hers as well. The two dogs instantly circled each other, noses practically shoved up the others butt. The girl straightened herself and her clothes-- a patterned dress that skimmed the beginning of smooth looking calves and high boots-- and picked up her leash.

“I'm new here,” the girl suddenly twittered, her voice unusually high and slightly...British? “What's your name, old chap?”

A brow raised all on its own, and she opened her mouth to fish out some sort of reply when the girl continued, her voice dipping into the back of her throat in a rumbling tone.

“ _Welcome to the neighborhood, punk. They call me..._ ” she paused, bending to find Anubis's tag beneath his fur, tucking strands behind her ear as she read it earnestly.

“ _Anubis._ ”

“ _God of Death! Well I'm Miss Helga Hufflepuff._ ”

“You're talking. For the dogs. As the dogs,” she said slowly, and the girl blushed again, standing back up, Anubis following her with his gaze.

“Yeah,” she answered, Huff hopping up at Anubis on impossibly stumpy legs, her fluffy butt wriggling. Anubis's wagged slowly, his ears pointed down. “Well. Maybe you guys can show me and Helga where the best trees are.”

Ah. The ever friendly and bubbly new girl. 

Her eyes flickered up and down, purely on their own accord. Well. She was, for lack of a better word, cute. Weird, possibly insane. But cute.  
She told herself it had been a while since she had some girl over for coffee or wine, and that it had been a minute since something new and...interesting had moved in--

“Heeeeyyyy CHARM-milla!” 

Oh God not Kirsch it was entirely too early for this shit.

“Off we go then,” she said in a bored way, quickly guiding the girl to the elevator with a hand on the crook of her elbow. 

Anubis and Helga helped by practically dragging them both forward, both of them making tiny whines and gurgles at another.

“So. Now that our dogs have been introduced,” she said, pressing the first floor button and stabbing the CLOSE DOOR one repeatedly, “What's your name.”

“Laura Hollis,” she beamed, the doors sliding close. Ugh, even her name was cheerful. But sort of older too. Like an antique waffle maker. “I'm going to guess yours isn't Charmilla.”

“Carmilla,” she agreed. Laura stuck out her hand and she shook it.

–

The morning was bright and cold, birds swinging overhead in loops and song. The trees were full and green again, the flowers blooming. She squinted, her eyes grimacing behind her sunglasses. 

Laura had practically talked her ear off, their dogs forcing them to stop at every single frickin' tree to inhale day old piss. She had completed her first two years at a JC before transferring here to complete a four year for journalism. Her dad had insisted on paying for her first apartment so he could ensure she had the best and safest, and that she was working at the library on campus. She once threw up because she ate too many brownies (normal ones too) at a party. She wasn't afraid of clowns, she just didn't trust their white gloves. 

Honestly, she didn't know what she was supposed to do with any of this information, but whatever, she wasn't exactly awake enough yet, so not having to talk was fine.

She hadn't thought to bring anything to pick up Anubis's dump, but Laura pulled out some biodegradable plastic bag out of a tiny canister attached her to dog's leash and threw herself into another verbal paragraph on how prepared her father raised her to be.  
She listened, frowning at the idea of having to spend money on something to scoop up dog shit, when Laura pointed to the little park up on the left.

And there she sat on a bench, watching the dogs frolic off leash in calling distance and wondering what the hell she was doing.  
What the hell her dog was doing, too.

Anubis flew over the grass, no longer stoic and quiet. He hunched down, his eyes wide, springing away last minute like a puppy. Dog had no air of mystery left to him at all. Helga hopped and snarled after him like a deranged rabbit, yipping away.

“Here,” Laura said, a styrofoam cup suddenly appearing in her line of vision. 

“Oh,” she muttered, taking it slowly. 

“I didn't know what you wanted,” Laura said, sitting down besides her. Right next to her, really. There was plenty of bench left. “So I brought you creamer and sugar packets.”

“Thanks. I actually take it black, so this is fine.”

Immediately, Laura tore into the packets, dumping them into her own cup. There had to at least be _six_ there. Helga was growling in the background, as if she were trying to return the favor and narrate for her owner.  
Again, what the hell was she doing here.

“Take any coffee with your milk and sugar?” she asked.

“Oh no. This is hot chocolate,” Laura laughed, stirring violently, and she nearly blanched. Definitely insane. This girl was definitely, criminally insane.  
And interesting. Definitely interesting.

“So, I have just been going on and on about myself. What do you do?” Laura asked, finally settling.

“Photography,” she said. “I graduated early. Got a couple gigs. Have had a couple shows--”

“Wait,” Laura said, grabbing her arm, her eyes wide. “Carmilla. As in. Carmilla Karnstein.”

It was the first time someone had recognized her fully outside of an exhibit. But really, that was cheating, because she usually just hid in a corner besides the enormous blow up info-graph of herself and got drunk.

“Yes,” she answered stiffly. Laura's hand was warm through the sleeve of her sweater.

“Oh man. I'm sorry, I just. Wow. Your work in the Alps, the black and white shots of the woods and the mist, the one with the wolf peering out behind that tree trunk with those eyes. I...I loved it. Honestly assumed you were some older lady, just. Wow,” she laughed, her hand leaving to join the other in some random gesticulation. “So you're like a prodigy!”

That spot on her arm now felt unusually cold. Like it wanted her touch back. 

She told herself it was the nerves of being complimented so thoroughly. She never knew what to do with those. Harsh criticisms and sarcastic insults were more of her specialty.

“Well, when I become an official journalist, I'm going to have to call you up to get some mad cover shots,” she smiled, her teeth vanilla white and her cinnamon hair being played with by the little breezes--

“Hey! Who's dogs are these!?” bellowed a frat boy, and she glared across the grass to see Helga death shaking a Frisbee, Anubis barking savagely at the anyone who neared her. “We're trying to play Ultimate Frisbee!”

“Sorry!” hollered Laura, launching herself over. And now her right leg and side were cold, like Laura Hollis was a tiny sun and she had just disappeared behind a cloud.

“What kind of sport is that anyway,” she muttered, getting up and jogging over.

–

For the rest of the week, Laura and her little dog too found them in the hall down to the elevator. 

They walked to the park and let the dogs pretend to maul another and spoke over hot cups. Or rather, Laura spoke and she listened.

And if she had presumed lonesomeness to be an infestation, Laura's sweet disposition was contagious. Asshole baristas suddenly smiled and threw in a free muffin.  
Impatient businessmen trying to cut in line suddenly got off their cellphones and apologized.  
People she would sharpen her tongue for were just...nice.

It was disturbing. 

If this were a Twilight Zone episode, Laura would've turned half the town into smiling, chattering zombies hellbent on picking up litter and waving to airplanes “just in case they were looking down.”

So, for the love of all that was good and cold, she decided that she would sleep in as usual on Saturday. Anubis seemed to sleep until she got up, and it wasn't like she and Laura had some sort of promised schedule. 

She jolted awake to the phone ringing.

Call her old fashioned or crazy, but she kept her cellphone for personal calls only, a cordless house phone installed for the sake of distance when it came to business and bills. She grabbed a pillow and yanked it over her head. It could go to voice mail and then she would know who to cripple with a doorknob.

 _You've reached Carmilla Karnstein. Leave your name and number._  
_beeeeep--_  
“Good morning! Uh, hope this isn't too forward. I may or may not have snatched your number off Anubis's tag yesterday. I--”

She lurched sideways and nearly off the bed, her hand snatching the phone like a possessed limb. She snapped back to her senses and stared at it for a second.

“...Hello?” Laura's voice called out from the receiver. It was too late now. 

“Hello,” she croaked, and a cold nose bumped her hand. She shot Anubis a look, and he cocked his head at the sound of Laura's ever happy tone bubbling over.

“Oh. Hey there. I know we don't really have a promised schedule or anything. But you seem to scare that Kirsch guy, and I was hoping to get Helga outside for a little bit today.”

She peered out at the window, frowning.  
They were in that strange time of year when Spring was still trying to wrestle itself out of Winter, and the sky was a bruised shade of gray, wind whipping the trees tops about.

“You want to go out in that.”

“We figured that it might be more appealing to the keeper of the Egyptian underworld and his brooding owner.”

“Brooding,” she snorted, mildly surprised. Well. She wasn't wrong.

About the brooding bit, of course.

Because the second the downpour started, Carmilla was the first back inside the lobby, Laura and the dogs on her heels.

On all accounts, she should be pissed. She was _drenched_ and Anubis and Helga were not only wet with mud but splattering it all over them too with shakes of their coats the entire elevator ride up, Laura shrieking and Carmilla snapping “Goddamnits” and Kirsch was whistling about wet t-shirt contests.

But Laura kept laughing. Hard, astonished laughter, like she was covered in gold instead of frigid rain and dirt. She was beginning to wonder if she could find the silver lining in being mugged at knife point.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” Laura insisted, grabbing her shoulder and screeching her thoughts to a stop. “I thought we had a couple more minutes before the storm hit.”

“Yeah, well, they can really sneak up on you, what with swallowing all the sunlight and thunder,” she said, her reply the only thing dry about her.

“Here,” Laura offered, grabbing a doorknob and biting her lip as she fished keys out of her pocket. 

Her apartment was polished and dusted before the dogs rushed inside, scattering all over the hardwood floors and sliding into a bookshelf and bumping the coffee table. Somewhere beneath the stench of wet dogs heaving up seal lion breath, it smelled like cake.

Laura lined her small bathroom's tile with rattier towels, and Carmilla held Anubis still as the girl scrubbed a protesting Helga down. 

Her eyes ached a little from trying to count all the rubber duckies Laura had themed her bathroom with. And when they weren't trying to discern what fan base she _didn't_ have a duck from, they seemed to always land back on Laura.

Particularly, the little slip of skin between the shirt sticking to the small of her back and the hem of her damp jeans. It didn't make sense to change into dry clothes with bathing what might as well be angry hairy toddlers. But that meant finding little curves where the fabric clung (to the side swell of her bra cup, the dip of her waist) and she felt her heart give a slow hop.

Helga was ruffled dry in a towel, Anubis whining and wriggling in her arms to play until she lifted him into the bath. To more of Laura's shrieks and her “Goddamnits,” he seemed to shake every time they rinsed him in spite. 

An entire linen basket of towels thrown into the wash and two pairs of sore knees later, the dogs were once again tearing and sliding across the wood floors, somehow even more energized post bath.

“What, are they like gremlins? Don't get them wet or feed them after midnight?” she griped, lifting a leg as they barreled past her again.

All wry humor was swallowed when Laura opened the door to her bedroom, gesturing her to hurry up and follow her inside to keep the dogs from rocketing in.

She pulled the door close behind her back, and where Laura's bathroom had been decorated to the teeth, she found her room to be tidied little space: a computer desk with binders stacked besides the lap top; a yellow pillow on top of a 'I-ironed-this-blanket-this-morning-' made bed; a single framed picture of who she assumed to be little Laura and her father.

And Laura yanking off her shirt, the wet cotton stubborn and dragging up past her lean stomach, her hips giving a tight little shake, her breasts slightly bobbing in their bra.

“Ugh,” she scrunched her nose, shaking her hair loose. She turned, digging through a middle dresser drawer, spine a little divot down the creamy skin of her back. “I never like taking off wet clothes. I figure you're what, an inch taller than me? I probably have something you can wear back to your place, unless you want to hang out here--”

She stopped, turning with a few shirts in hand, and Carmilla was abruptly aware of how her body was still pinned back against the door, her gaze unwavering.

The rain pelted the windows, the wind rushing about like the hiss of sea waves under a roll of thunder, and Laura's eyes flicked to the floor and back.

“Sorry, I'm so used to changing with soccer teammates and theater students and we're both girls so...” Laura started. But with every word, her eyelids seemed to lower, the smile melting away into a warm, dreamy sort of expression. 

With every word, she had taken a step, moving further and further into this new and foreign room, towards this new and strange girl, and now Laura was looking up the inch that separated them, a light blush reddening her cheeks into a pink glow.

“Carmilla?” she asked, her voice all soft, the shirts bunched between her hands.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Please tell me you're gay,” Laura said, and if it weren't for the very real pull between her hands and this girl's sides, she might've scoffed. Laura's skin was warm. Soft.

So instead she brushed her lips with her own, and she told herself that again, it had been a while since she had touched someone, a while since she had kissed a girl and felt her sigh against her mouth, since arms had tentatively wrapped around her neck like they were now.

The shirts fell somewhere down at her feet, and she told herself to shut up already.

Laura tasted like hot chocolate, the Swiss mix kind with those little marshmallows.

She smelled like rain and whatever coconut oatmeal shampoo she had for the dogs. The front of her stomach flinched at the chilled shirt still between them. Carmilla pulled back just enough to remove it and the second her head was free, Laura was kissing her again, and when her hands slid down to her hips, Laura gave a little gasp that she definitely wanted to hear more of.

“I've never done this,” Laura admitted in a mumble, and Carmilla halfheartedly paused, her thumb hooked up under a bra strap.

“Slept with someone you barely know,” she breathed into the girl's ear, adoring the way she instantly shivered further into her arms.

“I mean...I swear...I wasn't planning on _that,_ ” Laura said, her voice hitching as Carmilla slowly trailed her mouth down her jaw, her neck. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I've been with other people and you're stunning and I sort of have this crush on you I just didn't know this sort of thing happened outside of _The L Word_ or _ah_ fanfictions and okay I'm shutting up now.”

“Please do,” she muttered, halfway because she didn't care and halfway because she wanted to follow the heated pull in her gut, the magnetic tug between their skin.

But for sounding so nervous-- and geeky-- Laura's hands weren't. They grasped her closer and glided across her skin, fingers splayed in careful search. 

There was already an all too familiar ache between her legs, that hard want for friction and heavy breath and moans for more.  
There was that buzzing excitement of someone new and uncharted.

There were plenty of things to scapegoat when her heart started pounding, an overwhelming sense of joy when Laura pressed her backwards, the back of her knees now touching the edge of her bed--

There was a loud BANG and she found herself staring at the wide open bedroom door. Laura froze against her for the split second it took the dogs to find them, Anubis snuffling at their waists, Helga hopping and barking.

Carmilla's head sank to her shoulder and Laura giggled, hugging her neck.

“Hinges were a little loose when I first got here,” she said apologetically. “Been meaning to get those fixed.”

She left for a second, calling the dogs who followed with wagging tails, and Carmilla sat on her bed, considering the moment slain. Laura was right, things like that didn't really happen unless the momentum got rolling and didn't stop.

A cat. She should've got a cat. Maybe a black one. 

She could've named him Bagheera.

But then she would be sitting on her own bed now, having just woken up and eyeing the rain. She wouldn't have collided with Laura at all.

She wouldn't be watching the girl return to the room, the dogs in the kitchen and content with toys stuffed with peanut butter. Or watching her close the door with a shy smile.  
Or climbing onto the bed and coming in to surprise her with a warm kiss.

She wouldn't be admitting defeat, unclasping Laura's bra and tossing it somewhere far away from that chest of hers.

She liked this girl. And not just because the whole spontaneous sex part was clearly back on.

She liked her smile and her voice and how animated she was when she spoke. She liked how annoyingly unscathed she was. Naive. But optimistic.

She liked Laura's hands cupping the back of her neck and her nails curling against the sensitive skin behind her ears. She liked her sinking back onto the mattress so she could look down into those amber eyes, the way her hips fit up between Laura's legs in a key and lock way.

How sensitive her rosy nipples were, the little sounds she made when she suckled down on her neck. How wet she was already, her clit hard. How tight she was around two fingers and how she pulled her down to desperately kiss her when she began to move in and out of her.

It was sort of a first for her too-- hook ups were usually quick, rough fucks that ended with her leaving a girl's bed at three am. Or calling Will and letting her portion of the conversation chase a girl out of her bed at three am. Or walking out of an art galleria bathroom stall.

But here was some sort of uncanny valley between sex and ever dreaded L word making, a sort of instant intimacy in the way Laura moaned her name. It wasn't just lust and ego inflation flaring through her when Laura climaxed in her hand, hips stuttering. There was a rush when she embraced Carmilla flush against her, gripping her as she flexed around her fingers. 

And how she panted out that she had never came that fast before, how she eagerly rolled her over, how her enthusiasm to please translated _very_ well here.

She didn't recall stopping, but the next thing she knew, her eyes were open, adjusting to the dark. The rain was still tapping the windows, the clouds making it impossible to nail down the time, and at some point the dogs had barged back in because her legs were cramped up between Helga and Anubis.  
And Laura's legs. She was snuggled back into her, her head resting on her bicep in a pool of soft hair.

They were curled up together and she might've taken the time to register how again, this felt oddly normal, when she heard the distinct E and F notes striking off her phone. AKA, the Jaws theme, AKA Will's ring tone. 

She leaned back, her arm leaving Laura's stomach and batting over Anubis's shoulders to snatch her phone and silence it.

Or answer it. Use it as an excuse to go. Lay in her own bed and try to undo the mess of butterflies in her stomach long enough to figure out just what she wanted here.

“Get out of the water,” Laura mumbled suddenly, ethereal and confused, rolling over to blink at her slowly.

She rubbed en eye groggily, then smiled.

“Oh. I forgot you were here for a second. Best surprise ever.”

She silenced her phone, tossing it down by her jeans.

And as she lay between her and the dogs, in a key and lock sort of fit, she wondered just how far Laura had apparently crawled under her skin.  
And at the slight itch on her back, if sleeping besides dogs meant fleas crawling on her skin.


End file.
